Street Magic
by makkaTea
Summary: On the streets of London, there is a street magician. His talent is good, but he's no one special, until he is - to one blond in particular. (Immortal!Merlin, Reincarnated!Arthur)
1. Chapter 1

**Street Magic**

* * *

On the streets of London, there is a particular street magician who performs mind-bending tricks. Even the most observant never manage to catch his sleight of hand. Half the crowd worship his magic without question, and the other half religiously, futilely, try to pick out his faults.

The magician's a gangly fellow with a mischievous, lopsided grin forever on his face, a lovely red scarf around his neck no matter the weather, and black mirrored shades perpetually over his eyes.

Most notable, however, is his little quirk; some people say _abracadabra_ , some mutter gibberish, some even substitute words with a snap of the fingers. He, however, sticks with two words.

With his sleeves rolled up and an empty hand closed in midair, the street magician waves his other hand over the first, eyes blinking unseen behind reflective shades.

" _Arthur Pendragon_ ," he drawls, for that is his uniquely odd magic chant.

On any other day, magic occurs and that is that. The crowd would clap, and chatter and ruminate over the odd choice of spell.

Today, however, two things happen at once.

One: his hand opens to a flutter of butterflies that leaves the crowd awed.

Two: far back, in the rear of the group, a blond man with the bluest of eyes jolt at the words. His brows furrow as he studies the street magician.

Like magic, or perhaps destiny, the magician's head abruptly snaps upwards towards him. The background seems to melt away as they're wrapped up in a feeling of camaraderie, belonging, and fraternal love.

Subconsciously, the blond elbows his way up to the front, eyes never leaving the magician, who has frozen mid-trick.

"Do I know you?" he asks, mystified, and the world starts ticking once more.

The street magician only grins back like it's an inside joke between them, and the blond can do nothing more but stare as something deep within his mind stirs and tries to wrestle its way out.

The rest, as they say, is history (literally).


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: So... I never expected a second chapter, but then Crystia left a review and I couldn't help but imagine it. And now we have this. Enjoy!_

* * *

"We have a volunteer!" the street magician suddenly cries.

The blond in the audience, Arthur, pauses. "Wait, no-" he tries to say, but the gangly man before him is already pulling at his sleeves.

The magician turns with a flourish, and Arthur spots a death machine behind him – how the heck did he miss that earlier on? It's twice the magician's size, with a gleaming, round table sawblade hanging over a rectangular box.

"The finale of my show," the man says grandiosely. "If you'll go in," he urges.

Arthur has half the mind to refuse the death trap, but the other half stops him in place. There's something about this magician that calls to him, that he can't walk away from.

And then, the next thing he knows, he's trapped in the box, head and feet showing from either end, and a blade dropping rapidly above him. It's whirling and shaking and sparking like it's a rickety contraption, unable to work correctly.

Arthur shoots desperate gazes at the street magician, but blast those reflective shades, he can't see his eyes. What's the gimmick? He'd raked his eyes over the box when he sat down in it, but it was just that – a box. And the magician just won't give him a signal, or heck reassurance, though death is quickly approaching.

He's sweating, his heart is pumping. The magician just grins at his misfortune.

There's something about that look he can't place a finger on. It's just so- so… "Mer… _Mer_ lin!" Arthur snaps.

The street magician, goddamn _Merlin,_ gives him an awkward laugh. "Ah ha ha, that was quick, Arthur," he says sheepishly, but the Arthur can hear mischievousness mixed in the tone.

Then the blade descends completely.

Arthur feels nothing – no, that's not true. He feels something warm and familiar and _magical_ tingling in the pit of his stomach. Then the box is pulled apart and turned completely around, and Arthur can see his own two feet wiggling despite its disconnection from his upper body.

The crowd claps and cheers and Merlin takes a deep bow. "Thank you, thank you! I'll be back next week – _maybe_ ," he adds, shooting his King a contemplative glance.

He shoos everyone off, though some still linger around.

Arthur waits. Nothing happens.

"It's been fun," Arthur finally snaps in a voice that says otherwise, when Merlin makes no attempt to fix the skewed boxes, "Now put me back together."

"Hmm," Merlin goes cheekily, and then turns his head, appearing ready to wander off with his dispersing crowd.

"MERlin!"

The Warlock's grin only grows.


End file.
